My hands have found a pen again
My heart prepares to spill
It’s blue blood on the crisp white sheet
My eyes are stung too so deep
They can’t cry anymore
I mean to write my tears instead
I cannot huddle tight
For these hands must write my story
And it’s ever-nearing its end
I cannot comprehend my actions
But I write about them
Until my hands are stained
Black with the darkness
Something that I allow in
Each and every time I breathe
Just that one hesitation
And its wormed its way back in
